Bookland
by Corkboard
Summary: Welcome to Hetalia, one of London’s biggest bookstores, and definitely it’s strangest. I suggest leaving anything breakable at the front entrance.


**Title:** Bookland  
**Author:** Tensai-chan, with help from the lovely Kivaember  
**Pairing:** Germany/Prussia US/UK Finland/Sweden  
**Rating:** T  
**Warnings: ****Swearing, Shonen-Ai**  
**Summary:** Welcome to Hetalia, one of London's biggest bookstores, and definitely it's strangest. I suggest leaving anything breakable at the front entrance.

---------------

On the outskirts of London there is a large and relatively unknown bookstore by the name of Hetalia. It's origins are lost in the mists of time, but two things are agreed on by all who visit.

Firstly, whoever decided that putting a large water fountain in a bookstore was a good idea was obviously smoking something strong. And secondly, you do have to be crazy to work there.

Fortunately though, there were many crazy people who were more than willing to be employed by the shop - each from a different country, and each representing a different section within the bookstore. They formed a kind of multicultural eco-system, and, for the most part, got along fairly well. Emphasis on _fairly_.

There were a few...spats now and then. But there'd been nothing that required police or ambulance assistance for years now. There was that time a few months ago where they'd had to call the fire brigade and Arthur had been forbidden from using the stove since, but that was, mostly, accidental anyway.

But despite the fact that any customers who entered this curious bookshop had a slight chance of becoming injured through strange means, they got plenty of business... from a _certain_ kind of customer.

-------

"WHERE THE HELL ARE THE ECONOMICS BOOKS EAST?!"

Gilbert rolled his eyes, sighing in an exaggerated fashion. He got up from his seat behind the front desk, throwing his magazine to the counter. Ludwig continued glaring at him, in what would have been an intimidating fashion if he was maybe five years old.

"Geez. How many times to I have to tell you, I'm Prussian! Prussian! I'm not a fucking East German, nor will I ever be."

Elizaveta, who was checking the barcodes on the back of the military books, chose that moment to intervene in their argument, as she had a habit of doing. Hell, if she wasn't so hot Gilbert might even be angry at her.

"Prussia was dissolved before you were even born East. Face it, you're German."

That was the icing on the cake. Nobody called him German and got away with it. Sure, he could speak German, and he came from a region that was, admittedly, now called Germany, but he was Prussian! Prussian dammit!

"No way do I come from the same country as that- that- that brick wall!"

Ludwig ignored the obvious insult and started advancing on Gilbert in a menacing manner. Lovino stopped pretending to categorise books and turned around fully. He wore the kind of grin that made Gilbert just want to punch him. Hard.  
Next to Lovino stood Antonio, eating a banana with a look of intense concentration. He seemed fairly oblivious to the fight brewing, preferring to lavish his attention on the yellow fruit in his hand.

"East… Economics books. Now."

Gilbert sighed, feeling very put upon. Why did Ludwig even care about the economics books anyway? The last time someone had bought one of them was when they'd been looking for something to shelter their hair in the rain. And even then they'd debated whether it was worth it. Another glare was administered, and Gilbert suddenly had visions of his untimely death.

"Fine. I made a fort with them on the fourth floor. I mean, I need somewhere where I can display my awesomeness."

Antonio then showed that he had, apparently, been following the conversation by chiming in.

"The book fort? Sealand took over that a few hours ago. He's sitting in there wearing that Power Rangers suit Japan gave him, and he keeps shooting everyone who comes near with a potato gun."

"That bastard! He's dead! That fort is my territory, he can't just invade!"

Gilbert, with no further ado, turned his back on a livid Ludwig and went back to reclaim his vital regions. Even as he ran up the stairs, he knew he'd pay later. Hell hath no fury like a German scorned.

------

Lovino stretched him arms, yawning. He turned to Antonio, and watched the Spaniard finish his banana.

"Well that was fun. East Germany had it coming. I mean, a book fort? What is he, twelve?"

Antonio made a mumbled noise somewhere in the region of 'hm' that Lovino took as an affirmative. Scowling, his eyes searched the floor for more entertainment. It was suspiciously quiet. He couldn't even hear the familiar sounds of the Anglo-French brawl that usually took place around this time of the day.

"Brother!"

Antonio's head immediately whipped aroundto look at the hyperactive Italian running towards them. Lovino's heart sank. Why could Antonio never have that much interest when it came to him? What did Feliciano have that he didn't? Well, except for the artistic side, and the cooking skills, and the ability to clean a room without making it a bigger mess than it started off as. But apart from all those, Lovino was just as good. Better, in fact.

"North Italy! Aw, you're so cute!"

Feliciano ignored him, and headed straight for Lovino. It was very hard to be angry when engulfed in a huge hug, but Lovino attempted it valiantly. After all, he couldn't show his brother that he actually _liked _him or anything.

Both brothers turned their heads in unison when they felt an extra pair of arms encircle them. Antonio stood there, looking scarily happy, hugging both of them tight to himself.

"You're both so adorable! Why don't w-"

He never even got to finish the sentence, as a hastily thrown punch from Lovino knocked him back slightly. He staggered into a bookshelf, and the two Italians ran while they had the chance. The continental cuisine section sounded good now, that was always a great place to sit with Feliciano. The books on pasta kept him quiet enough so that they could hide from angry Spaniards. Lovino sat down on one of the bean bag chairs, and picked out a large, colourful book of Italian recipes. He hit Feliciano over the head with it, and settled himself down for a nice early siesta.

--------------

Bruised, but victorious, Arthur limped down the aisle cursing the Frenchman's name under his breath. So intent on his violent thoughts, the Englishman did not see the unconscious figure until he had fallen face first on the floor and felt like he broken his nose.

"What the hell?!"

From under his legs came the sound of groaning. That was… Unusual. Books didn't usually groan. Well, there was that defective shipment of children's books last year, but those had been burned months ago. Unless the ghosts of the children's books had come back and were haunting him now. Just because there was no precedent for book hauntings, it didn't mean they were impossible.

The groaning mass under his legs shifted. Curiosity overcoming him, Arthur looked back. He was slightly relieved, and slightly disappointed, to discover that it was only Antonio he'd fallen over. Poor guy, he'd probably tried to have a Ménage à trois with the Italian brothers again. That Lovino had a mean left hook.

Arthur dragged him to the nearest sofa, and left him there to sleep off the injury. This had happened too many times now for him to be more than very slightly concerned. Besides, it didn't do to get too involved in these Mediterranean politics.

"Yo! England!"

Arthur turned around to face Alfred, his frown deepening. He waited for the American to catch up, tapping his foot impatiently on the wooden floor. Alfred took his time in sauntering over, dressed, as always, completely inappropriately for work. Arthur shuddered to think where he'd gotten that jacket, but the words 'Oxfam Sale' came to mind unbidden. The image of Alfred lurking in Oxfam Sales, battling mothers for articles of clothing came unbidden to his mind, and it took all of Arthur's considerable self restraint not to laugh.

"So, um, what're you up to?"

Arthur sighed. All Alfred ever used him for these days was a quick cure for boredom. It made him feel nostalgic for the old days, where Alfred had been the new kid from the states and Arthur had been his mentor. They'd been such great friends until Alfred had suddenly decided that hanging around with Arthur was 'uncool', or something.

"So you want to hang out with me now then, America?"

It was now Alfred's turn to sigh. Though even that he overacted to an extreme, throwing out his arms in a dramatic, and totally pointless, gesture. Honestly, it was like he had no dignity whatsoever.

"For God's sakes, that was over a year ago! You're being ridiculous! It's not my fault you acted like a jealous bastard! I mean, you tried to control my life!"

Arthur was about to retort when Francis, stark naked, ran past the pair. He was closely followed by Roderich, who was wielding a violin like an offensive weapon. All bitter, argumentative thoughts gone, Arthur and Alfred turned to face one another.

"Well, that was strange."

-------

Roderich was angry. Hell, he was livid. The cheek of that damn Frenchman was unbelievable. There he'd been, happily skimming the music section for something snappy to play on his new violin, when he'd been assaulted by Francis.

The man had jumped him, then attempted to steal his boots. The reasoning behind this was still unknown, and Roderich darkly suspected there was none. Well, none beyond 'wow he has nice boots. I want a pair. I want his pair'. Francis's kleptomania problem was, as of yet, unresolved.

Just when, exactly, Francis had managed to discard his clothing was, frankly, a mystery.

He stopped at the junction between childcare and dating books, searching out his prey. To his disappointment, the naked Frenchman was nowhere to be seen. Slowly, he lowered his violin.

"Austria! Have you seen Russia?"

Austria cringed slightly. He turned to Natalia, gripping the violin tighter. She was smiling, oh God she was smiling. Roderich gulped before answering, the smile hypnotising him into a terrible state of terror and panic.

"Um… No sorry Belarus. Haven't seen him all day."

Natalia turned her back on him without speaking another word, and Roderich breathed a large sigh of relief. He continued on his way, glancing behind him every now and then to check Natalia wasn't following him. That woman was terrifying, she made Elizaveta seem normal.

"Psst. Austria."

Roderich turned to look at the source of the voice, and spotted Ivan crouching down behind a display of modern teenage fiction. The large man was curled up in his coat, and his eyes darted to and fro in an almost comical fashion.

"Yes, Russia?"

Ivan glanced down the aisle again, looking as if he expected the devil himself to jump out from behind the ridiculously large Twilight cardboard display.

"Have, have you seen Belarus around?"

Austria rolled his eyes instinctively, before realising with shame that eye-rolling was something completely undignified. Plus, it was something that Peter and Gilbert did on a regular basis, and anything that pair did was something he needed to stay away from at all costs.

"Yeah, she went down to lurk by the marriage magazines I think."

And, with that, Austria swept off to be reunited with his precious sheet-music books.

-------------

Ivan crawled down the aisle stealthily, pausing behind a life-size cutout of some ridiculously popular male vampire from a new teenage fiction series. He glanced around quickly, before finally standing up and sighing in relief. Natalia had been stalking him again, and Goddammit that woman terrified him. Ivan was used to being the one doing the terrifying, but Natalia seemed to be the one exception. Why she wanted to marry him was beyond Ivan. He'd only ever been on one date with her, and had drunk so much beforehand that the only thing he could remember of the entire night was telling her that she had 'hair like a sponge'. What he'd meant by that would be forever unknown.

He walked upstairs, heading towards the medical section where he kept a good bottle of emergency vodka. He knew from experience that, whenshe was in this sort of mood, Natalia would catch up with him at some point during the day. It was always better to be completely off his head drunk when this happened.

On his way to medical section, he passed the infamous fourth floor Economics Fort, where a fierce battle seemed to be taking place. He ducked a flying copy of Wuthering Heights, smiling as he saw the errant book hit Toris in the face. He didn't pause for long though, and continued on his way. Natalia could find him at any minute, and he needed a good head-start on the drinking before that happened.

Behind him, the sounds of a fierce and bloodthirsty battle raged.

--------------

Peter grinned as a well aimed chunk of potato hit Gilbert right on the nose. He reloaded his gun from the pile of spuds at his feet, and ducked to avoid being hit with a travel guide.

"Give me back my fort you little brat!"

Peter's grin stretched wider, and he threw out a copy of 'Financial Times 1992'. It hit Gilbert square in the chest, and he stumbled back a few paces with an 'oof' noise. It was time to truly show the world that he was the strongest. Today the Economics Fort Of The Fourth Floor, tomorrow the world.

"Never you old git!"

Gilbert growled, seriously growled, under his breath and was about to reply when a voice from the stairs caused them both to freeze. Peter dropped his gun, and Gilbert dropped the stack of Spanish dictionaries he was holding. Quickly, Gilbert sped towards the fort, and Peter didn't bother stopping him this time. They both huddled next to each other, listening to the horrific figure that was slowly making it's way up the stairs.

"EAST GERMANY. GET HERE, RIGHT NOW. AND SEALAND, I WANT YOU HERE TOO."

Peter turned to Gilbert, one hand outstretched. Saying nothing, Gilbert shook the offered hand. A temporary truce had been established between the pair. Ludwig advanced, a demon in a shirt and tie, and Gilbert turned to Peter.

"Bring out the heavy artillery."

Peter turned to the back of the fort, and opened his war chest. Inside were his missiles, all twenty of them. He dragged the chest to the front, and Gilbert grinned manically. His hand closed on one of the bombs, and his eyes focused on the rapidly approaching German.

Closer, closer, closer, NOW.

Gilbert let fly with the bomb, and Ludwig stumbled back a few paces at the assault of icy water. Peter grabbed a bomb of his own, and followed Gilbert's assault with a blast of flour.

Ludwig just stood there with a startled, and comical, expression on his face, globs of wet flour dripping onto the floor. Of course, the bewildement didn't last long, and soon Ludwig had seemed to have grown ten feet and was towering over the cowering two and their fort.

"EAST. SEALAAAAND!"

"Oh shit." Gilbert blurted eloquently.

They valiantly tried to hold off the enraged German, but it was like fighting against a mountain. Eventually, he broke through all their defences and made it into the fort. There was nowhere to run, he'd blocked the exit.

Gilbert nervously swallowed, his eyes darting for an exit. Peter shrank back into the wall, wondering if it was worth destroying the fort to get away from the inevitable row. Not really, after all, the fort was pretty awesome. As the rant began, Gilbert flinched, and had the grace to look at least a little chagrined in the beginning. After around ten minutes of shouting though, Peter saw the mischievous glint return to Gilbert's eyes. The glint that signified something very bad would happen within the near future. He leaned forward slowly, closer to the shouting demon.

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE HE-"

Peter watched in poorly-disguised horror as Gilbert kissed Ludwig, drawing it out for as long as possible as the angry German slowly… Slowly… Well, melted was the only real way to describe it. As Gilbert pulled away, Ludwig tried desperately to regain his dignity.

"Um… Well… What I mean is…"

Gilbert just grinned and pulled him into another kiss, the pair falling to the carpet and staying there.

After a few minutes Peter stepped over them and into freedom. He saw Kiku standing by the self-assertiveness books, looking toward the fort with vague horror on his face. On his way to the Manga section, Peter paused to give the Japanese man some friendly advice.

"I wouldn't go near. East and West are getting busy in there. Oh, and thanks for the comics you sent me."

With that, Peter skipped off happily to read the exploits of his favourite fictional heroes, leaving a shocked Kiku in his wake.

-----

Kiku hurried away from the fourth floor. He passed Alfred on the stairs, who happily informed him that nobody was manning customer services. Several minutes later, he found himself behind a desk, his comfortable yukata ditched for a shirt, tie and trousers ensemble. A young woman walked up, holding a stack of books about half her height. She then proceeded to dump the whole pile on his desk and glower at him in a menacing manner.

"How may I help you Madame?"

The customer's scowl deepened, and Kiku was fairly sure that wasn't a good sign. He was not the right person to be dealing with unhappy clients.

"Mademoiselle, thank you very much."

It took all of Kiku's willpower not to press the panic button right then.

"How may I help you, Mademoiselle?"

She gestured to the mountain of books. Kiku followed the gesture and saw that most of the book titles were written in some unknown language.

"I would like to know if you have a certain book available in Polish."

Oh God no. Not Polish. Kiku considered telling her that they didn't stock books in that language, but found the lies drying on his tongue.

"L-let me just call our Polish book specialist."

He picked up his mobile and rung the number, hoping unreasonably that Feliks was busy. It wasn't that he disliked the guy, not at all, it's just that after selling a Polish book Feliks would usually talk only in that language for the rest of the day. This then meant Toris would have to follow him around like a lost puppy, translating anything the Pole said. It was annoying for all parties involved.

"Like, hello."

Damn. He'd picked up.

"Poland? There's a customer here, she wants your help."

Kiku could practically hear the smug grin over the phone.

"I'll be right there Japan."

Japan closed his phone, and before long the clipping sounds of ridiculously, dangerously fashionable footwear reached his ears.

"Hey! You totally wanted some, like, Polish books?"

Kiku gestured to the disagreeable woman and stepped from behind the service counter. It was around time for his tea break anyway.

-----------

Feliks hummed under his breath as he searched the classical fiction section for a copy of 'Duma i uprzedzenie', or, as it was otherwise known, the Polish translation of 'Pride and Prejudice'. Finding the correct novel, Feliks plucked it from the shelf and placed it in the hands of the waiting customer.

"It's a, like, great book. They totally get together in the end."

Ignoring the glares of his disgruntled client, Feliks skipped off and left them. He needed to find Toris now. He like, loved speaking Polish, but it was pretty annoying when nobody else understood what you were saying. Toris was his own personal translator, and, sure it would annoy the Lithuanian, but it was totally worth it. Spotting Vash by the artillery section, he waved at the Swiss man.

"Switzerland! Do you, like, know where Lithuania is?"

He backed away quickly from Vash, fearing his imminent death. The looks that guy could give were like, totally terrifying.

"No. But you better not be thinking of spending the day speaking Polish again…"

Feliks backed away further, into the Self-Help section. Suddenly, speaking English seemed like a totally good idea. He could always, like, speak Polish tomorrow, after all.

-----------

Vash decided to go find a couch, where he could read his copy of 'Guns and Ammo' in relative peace and comfort. He'd spotted one by second floor Science Fiction yesterday, and he theorised it should still be there unless Wang and Kiku had been forced to create a barrier against Yong Soo again. That happened with frightening regularity.

"Switzerland! Have you seen Lichtenstein?"

Vash turned and saw Toris running towards him, carrying a large muffin basket and sporting a suspicious looking bruise on his forehead. The poor Lithuanian was used as a kind of errand boy by the rest of the staff, and was often sent to deliver coffee or muffins to people. No mean feat in a shop this large.

"Sorry Lithuania, I haven't seen her all day. But do you happen to have any carrot muffins there?"

Toris looked down at the basket in his arms, he shook it slightly, and examined all the different cakes carefully. After about half a minute, he picked one and held it out for Vash to take.

"Low fat iced carrot?"

He nodded and took the offering. Toris took that as his cue to leave, and continued down Popular Fiction, carrying the basket close to his chest.

Vash munched on his muffin contentedly, still searching for that elusive sofa.

-------------------

Toris sidled nervously down the Popular Fiction aisle. He'd received a tip-off that somebody had bought a Polish book, and so he was avoiding Feliks like the plague, for fear of being used as a Polish translator again. He stopped at the crossroads between Dictionaries and Education, and checked to see if all was clear. Seeing no sign of obnoxiously loud Poles, he made his way down Education, heading towards Family.

As he turned the corner to Family, he saw Arthur down there, trying to maintain some semblance of alphabetised organization. Him and Ludwig had been trying to organize the books for months now, and all they'd accomplished so far was to have one shelf completely full of English Dictionaries. They both guarded that shelf with their lives, and any customers who tried to buy a book from it went out wondering why the shop assistants had pushed them out of the store.

He poked the Brit gently in the arm, offering the muffin basket. Arthur blinked, and selected a blueberry and white chocolate confection.

"Thanks Lithuania. You haven't seen France around, have you? I think the French bastard got my iPod in the ten o clock brawl."

Lithuania grinned, and pulled the missing iPod from his jacket pocket.

"I was given this by Austria."

Arthur grabbed it off him with a smile of thanks and stuffed the headphones in his ears at once. Toris smiled in return before walking away.

He had an important job to do, after all. People got very grumpy without their muffins.

---------

Arthur smiled as his fingers traced the buttons of his beloved iPod. He quickly discovered the song he wanted, and pressed play. As the intro began playing through his headphones, he closed his eyes and leaned back onto the bookshelf. He hummed the tune, though he couldn't sing the verses yet. Singing rap was more Alfred's thing anyway.

However, as soon as the chorus kicked in he began singing along in earnest. Quietly at first, but his voice grew and grew in volume with every line.

"Take me on a trip, I'd like to go some day. Take me to New York, I'd love to see LA. I really want to come kick it with you. You'll be my American Boy."

A hand on his shoulder broke him from his trance, and he looked up to find a smirking, spectacled American standing there. Realising exactly what he'd been singing, Arthur wasted no time in going a bright beetroot red and stuttering like a fool.

"I- Well- I mean- Um-"

The American's smirk just deepened, and he raised one hand to Arthur's face, brushing away a few stray strands of hair. Arthur looked away, before feeling soft lips brushing his cheek. A voice in his ear whispered quietly;

"If I'm your American boy, you can be my British boyfriend."

They kissed softly under 'Adoption For Complete And Utter Idiots', and Arthur couldn't help but wonder how exactly Alfred managed to taste of hamburgers and coffee and bubblegum all at the same time. Alfred, for his part, wondered why Arthur tasted of strawberry jam.

"You want to take this, elsewhere?"

Arthur snorted. How like Alfred to come up with something that unbelievably cheesy. But, regardless, he grabbed the American's hand and began dragging him away.

"Where are we going?"

"Festive Cookery."

Alfred stopped then, and Arthur almost fell flat on his face from the sudden jolt.

"Eh? Festive cookery? Why not the Economics Fort?"

He sighed at the American's obliviousness. It was like Alfred had no idea whatsoever about what went on in the shop.

"I heard something's going on there. Anyway, it's March. Nobody will touch Festive Cookery until November. And it's right at the back of the fifth floor, nobody goes there if they can help it after Georgia had that accident."

They both were quiet for a little after that, remembering poor Georgia. Ivan had sworn it was purely coincidental that he had been near at the time, and they couldn't find any evidence to link him to it, but still…

At least she'd made a full recovery now though, well, apart from some minor psychological scarring. The poor girl still couldn't see a Christmas tree without screaming bloody murder.

"Right. Festive Cookery it is. But what did you say was going on in the Economics Fort?"

-------------

Now normally, Gilbert couldn't stand Ludwig's anal retentive attitude, but he had to admit that when they were getting hot and sticky in a fucking book fort, God that man could really use his mouth!

"Hnn…"

Gilbert twisted his fingers into Ludwig's normally impeccable shirt, taking vicious satisfaction in rumpling it and digging his nails into the other German's shoulder.

"F-Fuck, West…"

Ludwig merely grunted distractedly from where he was currently busy in nipping Gilbert's neck, one hand skimming down the more diminutive man's side and the other pulling down the collar even further, the messily tied tie sliding undone.

"I'm still angry." He growled, popping the uppermost button open. "You shouldn't," Another nip, "Use books to make forts."

Scoffing, Gilbert ruffled the normally neat hair of the other German and gripped the dishevelled strands tightly, smirking at the ceiling of the book fort where he could see 'Economic Values of Rural Careers' leering down at them.

"Che. I'll make…more. You loser."

"Hmph."

Ludwig must've gotten tired of him running his mouth, because he raised his head claim Gilbert's lips in a fiery kiss. Gilbert fought back with everything he had, like Hell was he going to be submissive to that German bastard, he'd even resort to cheating by jerking his knee up into Ludwig's side none too gently to gain the upper hand.

A tussle later, and Gilbert was sitting triumphantly on a scowling Ludwig's stomach, panting heavily from both exertion and lust.

"Feh. Think I'm gonna bottom, West?"

Ludwig glowered.

"You didn't seem to mind last time, East."

Oh. Oh that was low.

"Hnn. Loser."

Gilbert sneered, fingers already pulling at the buckle of the other German's belt.

"I'm gonna show you who's the awesome one here…"

He bent over, sliding the belt out of its loops with a sharp motion, the leather snapping at the air.

"West Germany."

Ludwig didn't even falter or twitch at the feral gleam in Gilbert's eyes.

"Certainly not you, East Germany."

"Heh."

Gilbert discarded the belt and dipped his fingers into the waistband of the other German's trousers, tugging teasingly.

"You're gonna be screaming 'Prussia' by the end of this." He promised lowly with a sultry purr.

Ludwig opened his mouth, to protest or snap out another 'East' just to piss him off, but was interrupted by a trembling figure leaping into their book fort, mumbling rapidly about 'Russia'.

Gilbert and Ludwig simply stared – one annoyed and the other embarrassed – as the small man squeaked when he took in the sight before him, looking more horrified than when he barrelled into their private moment.

"O-Oh! E-East! W-West! I…I didn't…um, I-I-"

"Latvia." Gilbert cut in, face eerily calm. "Get out."

"O-Of course!" And then Raivis scrambled back out only to barrel into a blithely smiling Ivan.

------------------

Raivis wished he was back in the book fort. As Ivan steered him towards 'Hobbies And Interests', reeking of vodka and humming some, admittedly catchy, melody under his breath, Raivis couldn't quell a faint nagging in the back of his mind that told him he was going to die. Slowly and painfully. Embarrassment was preferable to Ivan any day of the week.

"Come with me comrade, we have much work to do."

Work? Did Ivan just say work? Dear God, how much had he had to drink? The last time Ivan had done any work was when he'd gone through his 'Ivan the Friendly Bear' phase. Raivis still woke up in cold sweats some nights, remembering the feel of that bear suit on his cheeks. What had he called himself again? Vinni Puh, or something like that. Oh God, what if Ivan was wheeling out the bear suit again?

"Russia! Where's Sweden? We were playing hide and seek, and I haven't been able to find him for four hours."

Raivis turned to look at Tino, breathing a sigh of relief. Tino would rescue him from the Russian, he could be sure of it. The Finn was kind, and surely he wouldn't let a fellow human being be tortured.

"Sorry Finland, I've not seen him all day. Did you try the Woodwork section?"

Tino grinned at that, and ran off the way he'd come. As the sound of his footsteps dwindled in the distance, Raivis couldn't even feel that disappointed. It was like he was destined to be controlled by Russia.

---------------

Tino stalked his prey down the 'Woodwork and Carpentry' corridors. His target was in sight, reading a rather threadbare copy of 'To Sand or Not To Sand?'. He hadn't been spotted yet, Berwald seemed utterly engrossed in his novel. He dropped to the floor, crawling along commando style. He was so close, just a little bit further. There! He was within reaching distance of Berwald's leg! Today was the day he'd finally win!

"Hallo Finland."

Tino honestly didn't know why he bothered anymore. He was never going to get one over on the crafty Swede. The guy was always three steps ahead of him.

"Hello Sweden."

He plopped onto the couch next to the other, resting his head on Berwald's shoulder. Sighing, he softly kissed the Swede on his cheek. Berwald raised one arm and placed it around his waist, pulling him into a quick hug. They stayed that way for at least half an hour, both happy just to sit with one another.

The sound of a loud bell chiming across the shop snapped them both from of their reverie. Tino stood up, stretching his aching muscles. Berwald carefully placed a bookmark to keep his place in the novel, and then stood up himself. He grabbed the tired Finn by the arm, and began dragging him toward the exit.

"Come on. It's time to go home."

-----------

"Who has the keys today?"

All eyes turned to Francis, and the Frenchman at least had the decency to look a little ashamed as he pulled the keys from one of his pockets. He handed them to a very dishevelled looking Ludwig, who nodded a silent thanks.

One by one, all the staff filed out of the building. Chatter and laughter echoed across the empty street. After the last person had left, Ludwig locked the door and placed the keys carefully under the fake rock.

"Today's been a long day, eh?"

Ludwig turned to look at Matthew, who was standing by the window, watching Yong Soo try to drag Wang home again. Ludwig made a sound of vague acknowledgement, and the Canadian turned to look at him fully.

"And to think, it's only Monday. We have five more days of this."

---------------------


End file.
